


The Bigger Fish Job

by dirigibleplumbing



Category: Leverage, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Banter, Crossover, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Heist, Humor, M/M, Multi, POV Outsider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-28 07:13:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20060086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dirigibleplumbing/pseuds/dirigibleplumbing
Summary: Parker and her team successfully make it to the top floor of Avengers Tower without being accosted—but after that it doesn’t go as planned. Fortunately, there’s plenty of hot chocolate and mini marshmallows.





	The Bigger Fish Job

**Author's Note:**

> For the “fish” square of my Stony bingo. 
> 
> If you aren’t familiar with Leverage, here’s a super quick rundown:  
Alec Hardison (a hacker), Parker (that’s her only name, and she’s a tiny acrobatic thief), and Eliot Spencer (a former hitman and all-around badass) are a group of Robin-Hood-esque grifters and thieves. They’re usually hired by people who have been fucked over by corporations or rich assholes, and run cons on the sort of people and institutions that usually get away with whatever they want. They are also all in a triad romantic relationship together.

“_Last one_,” Hardison’s voice says over the comms, and a door begins to slide open. Parker still doesn’t see why they couldn’t have scaled the outside of the tower. Trial and error has shown that suction cups don’t actually work the way they do in cartoons, but the team still could have pretended to be window cleaners or something. 

“Congratulations,” a voice says from inside the penthouse—a voice Parker recognizes. 

Tony Stark is lounging on a plush, curved couch, his legs in Steve Rogers’ lap, a cascade of vast glass behind him. It reminds Parker a bit of the time she broke into Sainte-Chapelle: cathedral-high ceilings and ostentation. She likes it. 

“_They’re supposed to be out of town!_” Hardison’s panicked voice fills her ear.

“_Damnit, Hardison_,” Eliot’s voice hisses. “_You said those Doombots would take them all day! Parker, I’ll be there in 5, if we can get you out before—_” 

She tunes him out and approaches the couch, flashing her brightest smile. Stark and Rogers smile back, Stark crookedly, wryly, Rogers shyly, sheepishly. “I think I get it,” she says. “You’re our real client, right? You didn’t really plagiarize that woman’s research.” 

“I told you she was brilliant,” Stark says, grinning fully as he turns to Rogers. 

“I _knew_ Iron Man wasn’t a bad guy!” Parker crows. 

“_Chill, woman,_” Hardison advises. “_This is still not an ideal situation._” 

“Where’s the rest of your team?” Stark peers at the door she just passed through, as if they might appear behind her. “I’d love to welcome all of them aboard.”

Parker takes a seat on a Marcel Breuer corset chair and leans over the coffee table. Well, she thinks it’s by Michel Boyer; minimalists aren’t really her forte. Give her a gaudy oil painting in a hand-carved gold-leaed frame any day. 

There’s a pitcher of coffee and a tray of mugs and pastries set out, along with a bouquet roughly the size of a Tibetan Mastiff. “Do you have any chocolate?” she asks, peering at the pile of croissants and bagels. 

Stark chuckles. “Sure, I think I’ve got something around here—” 

“I’ll make you a hot chocolate,” Rogers offers, gently removing Stark’s feet from his lap and moving to stand. 

“Ooh, with mini marshmallows, too,” she says. If billionaires don’t keep mini marshmallows in their penthouses, she’s not really sure what the point of capitalism is. 

“You got it,” Rogers replies, moving toward the suite of chrome and glass appliances at one end of the vast room. 

Parker looks up from the table to see Stark surveying her. “Don't worry about my partners. I’m their boss, anyway, so why don’t you tell me more about your project. I take it this was some kind of test.” 

Stark nods, looking pleased to see the topic return to business. “I prefer the term _ lure_, but close enough. If it’s a test, you outperformed my wildest expectations. Did you know, your guy Hardison is probably the only one on the planet capable of shutting down my AI?” He considers this a moment, a dark look crossing his face before he continues, “Any time he wants to get JARVIS back online, that would be great.” 

“Might be a while. I think he’s enjoying having leverage on you while I’m up here alone with you. That, and, gotta say: it kinda sucks being conned! I can see why our marks are always so upset. Ooh, thank you!” She takes the huge, warm mug Rogers offers her. She’s pleased to see at least half of the volume is comprised of little marshmallows shaped like stars and crescent moons. 

“You’re safe here no matter what you choose,” Rogers mutters as he settles back onto the couch. 

“Nah, that’s fair,” Stark huffs. “Gotta let ‘em hold _ some _ of the cards. Okay, here’s the deal. The Avengers have a spy deficiency.” 

“We’re not spies,” Parker points out through a mouthful of marshmallows. “We’re thieves.” 

“Semantics.” Stark waves a hand in dismissal. “Point is, Black Widow and Hawkeye are kind of, you know, world-famous recognizable now. Not great for covert ops.” 

“We wouldn’t ask you to stop your other work,” Rogers puts in. “More, we’d subsidize it. Ask you to send us any intel you’re comfortable sharing that you think might be Avengers business.” 

“_Sounds like working for the man,_” Eliot grumbles over comms. 

“_Yeah_,” Hardison says. “_But_. ** _The_ ** _ man. _ ** _The_ ** _ Tony Stark. Dude hacked the Pentagon when he was a tween._” 

“Fourteen,” Stark corrects. “That’s a teen, technically.” 

"Your humility wows us all," Roger's murmurs. 

“_Damnit Hardison! You said our comms were secure— _” 

Hardison’s laughter soon overpowers Eliot’s ranting. Parker can’t tell if the laughter is panicked or giddy, if Eliot is actually upset, but she’s not really concerned at the moment. They’ll get it together soon enough. 

She turns her attention back to the men in the room with her. “So we’d be Avengers? What are we Avenging?” 

Stark pours two coffees, adding cream and sugar to one. He takes a long swig of the first, passing the second to Rogers. “Up to you, really. I got no horse in this branding game.” 

Parker watches them drink their coffee for a moment. Then she says, “You have a job in mind. Another test.” 

Stark tsks. “Not a test if the results are a forgone conclusion. You guys ever run a con on Roxxon?” 

A door near the wet bar opens and Eliot bursts in, glaring every which way. It’s incredibly adorable. “Coulda just had your fake client give us a job at Roxxon in the first place,” he grumbles. But he sits down heavily in a corset chair beside hers. 

“Which scandal are we doing first?” Parker asks. “Illegal arctic drilling? The pipeline? The explosion in New Orleans?” 

“Bit of all of the above, but for starters, we’re interested in the Roxxon Norco Oil Slick,” Stark replies. 

“They killed a lot of fish and whales and seabirds,” Parker agrees. She’s always wanted to make friends with a shark. She read that there’s one that’s at least 270 years old. “So, who at Roxxon are we looking at?” she asks, draining the last of her hot chocolate. “Jones? Neumann? Sheppard? Llewellyn? Méndez?” 

Rogers gives Stark a skeptical, almost beseeching, look. 

Stark rolls his eyes, flicks Rogers on the shoulder, faces Parker and Eliot again and says, “All of them.” After a moment he says, “Better include Schlösser, Price, Caruthers, and the junior Scarborough, too, while you’re at it.” 

“Okay, wow,” Hardison says as he emerges from a door Parker had previously taken for a closet. Though, it very well may be. “That is _ huge_.” 

“Roxxon is huge,” Eliot agrees in a rumble. It’s cute. Parker doubts it sounds intimidating to people who hang out with the god of thunder. 

“Stark Industries is pretty big, and you got through all of their security today,” Rogers points out. “Uh, can I get either of you gentlemen some coffee?” Or,” he coughs, “hot chocolate?” 

“Pass,” Eliot says, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed, glowering. 

“Got any Squeeze Orange Soda?” Hardison asks. He sets his tablet and a stack of other, less recognizable gadgets on the table next to the massive flower arrangement, then leans down to give Parker and Eliot each a peck on the forehead. 

Parker preens. Eliot pretends to swat him away, but she can feel his smile, ostentatious as a Rubens, from where she’s sitting. 

“I’ll check,” Rogers says after a moment, extricating himself once again from Stark’s limbs and heading back to the kitchen area. 

“SI is big,” Parker agrees, “but Roxxon is bigger. This is all bigger. So. We have demands.”

“We do?” Hardison says in a carrying whisper. He settles into a Pierre Jeanneret armchair and puts his feet up on the coffee table. 

“Hardison,” Eliot hisses. 

“Hit me,” Stark says, unconcerned by both the crosstalk and feet on his table. 

“I want to hang out with Black Widow,” she says. She’s quite firm on this. 

Stark grins. “No problem. She’s got most of the intel we have on Roxxon so far, anyway.” 

“And we need a Quinjet.” 

Rogers—who has returned from the kitchen with an armful of orange Fanta, Sunkist, and an orange Crush, but no Squeeze—frowns. “I don’t think—” 

Stark interrupts him by clapping his hands together. “How about this. I’ll order takeout. Natasha will join us for dinner. You’ll release your hostage. Then we’ll get to talking detailed terms.” 

“Think of the fishies,” Hardison implores Eliot, an exaggerated expression of woe on his face. He selects a soda from the proffered collection, cracks open the cap, and takes a long swig. 

Eliot sighs. “Fine.”

Parker is giddy. “We’re stealing an oil company!” 

“We’re saving the oceans, my babes,” Hardison agrees, holding out his half-empty orange soda as in toast. 

Parker merrily clinks her empty hot chocolate mug against the bottle. After a moment, Stark and Rogers’ coffee mugs clack against hers, too. 

She and Hardison look at Eliot expectantly. 

Eliot runs a hand through his hair with an anguished “_Damnit_,” but reaches for an empty mug from the tray and joins their toast. 

**Author's Note:**

> Find me [on Tumblr](http://dirigibleplumbing.tumblr.com/). [Tumblr post](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20060086) for the fic.


End file.
